


One More Last Chance

by dragonmactir



Category: Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age: Origins, Final Fantasy (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Heavily Non-Canon, Heavily Suspend Credibility, Heavily Wild Hair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-11-17 00:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11264049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonmactir/pseuds/dragonmactir
Summary: After the death of the archdemon, the slaying warden wakes in a world strange to him, a world filled with magic and strange beings.  He immediately finds himself entangled in a small nation's political troubles, par for the course, when all he wants now is to survive in this strange new home.  How did he get here?  Should he consider going back?  Does he even have the choice?





	1. Asea in Sand

There was no bad weather system building above South Banks Village that night. No sandstorms, no thundershowers, not a single dark cloud in the entire expanse of the Estersand or further, reaching north into the Mosphoran Highwaste or south into the Giza Plains.  So the sudden booming crash of thunder and the instantaneous brilliance of a snap of electric lightning straight into the middle of the peaceful little desert settlement was startling to say the least.  Villagers rolled out of their tiny beds, uninjured but shocked to full wakefulness by the noise and light, to huddle at their windows and in their doorways to peer out into the darkness to see what was happening.

 

“Something landed on my roof!” the Widow Theodran screamed from around her doorjamb. “Something heavy!”  The men in the village gathered to light torches and see what it might have been.

 

It was easy enough to see from a distance, but the men approached cautiously nevertheless. A giant human man, or so it appeared, lay sprawled across the rounded roof of the elderly widow’s adobe hut, his booted feet touching the ground below and his unruly black-haired head nearly touching the ground on the other side.  He had partly caved in the roof, it seemed, and he had apparently appeared out of nowhere.  Where could he have fallen from?  An airship?  A balloon?  The sky itself?  Remotely possible but barely feasible.  He had a sword on his back, a plain iron greatsword, so it was doubtful he’d been tossed from a slave ship.  One man, a little braver than the others, approached a bit closer and kicked a couple of times at a booted foot then hurried back to the relative safety of the crowd.  The big man on the roof let out a soft groan but did not move.

 

“Well, he seems to be alive,” Dantro Kertumsen, an Outpost guardsman, said. “If only barely.  “I suppose we should get him off the roof and to the gatestone before he perishes completely, get a healer here from Nalbina, if we need it after that.  Come on boys, we’d better hurry.  Cautiously, now -- no telling how bad he’s hurt inside.”  Dantro and five other men, burly sorts, stepped forward to take command of the situation, but when they made the attempt to move the big man down off the low roof they found they could not shift him at all.

 

“Maker,” one of the men grunted. “He’s big, but he don’t look quite _that_ big.  We’re gonna need more men on this.”

 

“Maybe we’re better off just to leave him here and call the healer,” Dantro said, scratching his fuzzy chin.

 

“I think the roof is caving in, Dan. I for one don’t want to see it go all the way, especially with the old widow lady not wanting to come out just yet,” another man said.

 

“Yeah, you’re right. Well, let’s give it one more go.  He can’t be all that heavy, can he?  On three boys, heave.”  Again they tried, and again they failed, to budge the prostrate male.  He was quite large in comparison with them, yes, on the order of seven and a half feet tall or somewhere thereabouts, but surely they should have been able to shift him at least a little.  Still, all their jostling had some effect.  The big man groaned again and one of his farflung arms moved to swipe at his downturned face.  “Hey, maybe he’s not hurt so badly after all,” Dantro said.  “Maybe if we can wake him up, he can walk to the gate crystal himself.”  He knelt down next to the big man’s shaggy black head.  “Pardon me, sir, but are you all right in there?  Do you think you can get up or do you need a healer?  We can get you one if you need it, but the roof is caving in beneath you, so we thought moving you was the best thing to do under the circumstances, and we’ve got a strong gate crystal nearby that can probably heal you all on its own if you can just make it there.  Turns out we can’t budge you, however.”

 

The great head rolled to one side, then back, then raised about halfway. “You could have just asked me if I can stand,” the big man said in a low, gravely voice.  “I can always… make a… stand.”  He let out a long, even breath, brought his arms up, and pushed.  The roof caved in completely, and the Widow Theodran came dancing out mad as a hatter and covered in dust, but the big man was on his feet, a little shaky and quite pale, but looking tremendously powerful nevertheless.  From his rolled-top boots to his open-front shirt disclosing a massive chest liberally peppered with black hair to his ice-blue eyes and his long dark locks high above, he was something the natives didn’t see every day.  “Ah… I feel like I fell off the tower of Fort Drakon,” he sighed as he shook his shaggy head.

 

“Do you know what happened to you?” Dantro asked. “Do you know where you came from?”

 

“Of course, I --” but the big man stopped short, confusion writ clear in his eyes. “I… may need to think about it for a few moments.  I feel rather strange for the time being.  Muzzy-headed.  My thoughts need to clear.”

 

“I know what will help you. Step right this way,” Dantro said, and led the big man to a tall orange crystal, standing proudly by itself all alone at the back of the village, with not a single other crystal of any sort around to show that it had naturally grown there.  “This will heal you right up, and it should clear the muzziness.  And then if you have a teleport stone you can probably go right back home.”

 

Gate crystal? A stone that can heal?  What a strange concept.  Tentatively, the big man reached out his hand and laid it upon the stone.  He felt a sense of power wash through him from his hand and down his arm and through his whole body, and he quickly took his hand away.  He did feel better, though.  He still couldn’t quite begin to think about what had happened to him.  All he could remember seeing was a bright flash of yellow-white light, burning hot and so very, very beautiful somehow, but the pain that he felt left him with the stone’s magic.  He still couldn‘t think, and realized at long last that this, perhaps, could be somewhat explained by the urgent sense of hunger in the pit of his stomach.

 

“Better?” Dantro asked of him, and he looked his way and nodded slightly, then croaked out, “I feel as though I haven’t eaten in years.”

 

“Well, you don’t… look underfed, but… come on, have a seat. We don’t have much for furniture, you understand, and at your size I don’t think you’d be comfortable in what we have for chairs.  Just come sit down by the riverbank here.  The gate crystal keeps the fiends away.”  Dantro led him a few steps to the side of the wide, placid river, where he sat him down on a small blanket on the sandy riverbank when the big man removed his sword.  “I don’t know that anyone has much for food this late at night, but I suppose I can warm you up a bowl of last night’s stew.”

 

 _Stew. Yes, yes, yes, PLEASE,_ his stomach answered.  He nodded so that Dantro could understand.  Dantro left him and went to attend to the stew.  A small crowd of onlookers were gathered at a slight distance, watchful of him, but he found he did not for the time being care overmuch if he were an object of curiosity to them.  Of far more concern to him at this time was the fact that this village and this river were completely unknown to him.  He was unfamiliar with stick and mud huts, and the people were so small, almost elven in stature.  Where could he be?

 

Dantro came back with the stew, and as he accepted it the big man asked, “Could you tell me please where this place is? Am I somehow in Antiva?  Nevarra, perhaps?”

 

“Er, uh… no, I’ve uh, never heard of those places,” Dantro said. “This is, um.  Well, it’s the kingdom of Dalmasca.  You, uh… really don’t know where you are?”

 

“Last I knew I was in Ferelden. I’ve most always been in Ferelden.  I’ve only ever left it once in my life.”  He spooned up some of the stew and ate it.  “Good stew.  Thank you.  Dalmasca?  I’ve never heard of Dalmasca.”

 

“I’ve never heard of Ferelden, but then, geography’s not my strong suit,” Dantro said. “Do you remember how you got here at least?  You seem to have fallen from the sky.  There was a loud crash and a bright flash and there you were.  Best we can figure is you must have fallen from a low-flying airship, but it must have been traveling awfully fast to be there and gone so quickly.  You’re lucky to be alive.”

 

“An… airship? What’s an airship?” the big man asked, with a blank look over another spoonful of stew arrested halfway to his mouth.

 

“What? Oh, well, maybe they call them something different where you’re from.  They’re… flying ships?”

 

“Flying ships? Really?  How would that even happen?” the big man asked, ice blue eyes huge and unbelieving.

 

“Oh. Well, if you don’t know, I don’t think I can really explain it to you,” Dantro said through a dry mouth.  “Look, I’ll… get you another bowl of stew.  How’s that sound?”

 

It sounded very good, and the big man applied himself diligently to the business of filling the gripping emptiness in his stomach and put off the questions in his mind for the time being. He did not even recognize the sword laying beside him in the sand.  Dantro did not venture to ask him anything more, either, and the others in the village remained at a respectful distance, allowing their neighbor to shoulder the responsibility for this sudden burden in their lives.  Some of them even managed to forget the night’s brouhaha and go to bed.  After a time, Dantro took the second empty wooden bowl from the big man and stood up.

 

“There’s not much left of this night,” he said, “but I may be able to squeeze a couple of hours sleep into it if I try. You should try, too.  It should help you feel a bit better.  I can bring you another blanket to curl up under.  When I get up it will be awfully early, still, because I’ve got to work early, but if you can’t tell where to teleport to you’d probably be better off in the city than here.  I can take you to one of them.  Nalbina’s closer, but you can’t get in without a Trade Union’s pass, a Warrant of Dalmascan Citizenship, or a local’s identification.  I’m sort of betting you don’t have any of them.  Rabanastre’s not that much longer a walk.”

 

“I don’t need any of those things there?”

 

“Nope. Nalbina’s locked down because the kingdom’s great dungeon is there.  Rabanastre is the capital, but generally speaking it’s open to everyone.”

 

“Ah, I see. Well, sounds like I’d better go to Rabanastre, then.  But wait -- I have to make restitution to the lady whose roof I caved in.”

 

“Resti-what?”

 

“I have to fix it.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry. Some of the boys will fix that in the morning.  For now she’ll stay with one of her friends, come morning they’ll patch it up slick as a whistle.  By midday it will be better than ever.  Honestly, her old hut needed a bit of patching.”

 

“Still, I should do something -- ”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Dantro said. “You didn’t do it on purpose.”

 

“Nevertheless, I did it.”

 

“You’re kind of stubborn, aren’t you?”

 

“You have no idea.”

 

“Just try and get some sleep, all right?” Dantro said, giving up. “Morning will come early.”

 

“Very well.” The big man curled up on his side facing the river on the small blanket Dantro had already provided and covered himself with the other small blanket that Dantro brought for him in a moment’s time.  He watched the calm surface of the water in the moonlight, the stars reflected in it.  He did not recognize one of them.  The moon looked strange to him as well.  How could the moon look so different?  How could the stars have changed?  Surely these things were constants, no matter where in Thedas you happened to be.  He must have been quite tired, because the next thing he knew, Dantro was shaking him awake.  The moon was down and the stars had shifted position in the sky, showing that a few hours had passed.  He stretched his sore muscles and rose from his makeshift bed by the river.

 

“This is awfully early, and I apologize for that, but I have to be at my station at the outpost in the Estersand by dawn,” Dantro said. “I hope you can use that sword you’ve got, because there will be fiends along the way.”

 

The big man smiled -- just the slightest quirk of his upper lip. “I have some martial training, yes,” he said, and followed Dantro out of the darkened settlement and into the desert beyond.

 

“If you ever need help, with anything, just call on us. South Banks Village, that’s what we’re called.  You can reach us now from damned near anywhere as long as there’s a gate crystal and a teleport stone handy,” Dantro said as they entered the empty sands.  “There’s another gate crystal in Nalbina and one in Rabanastre, of course, and you should touch both as soon as ever you can.  Touching gate crystals, orange and blue, is good under general circumstances -- they both heal you of pretty much any injury or illness and replenish your Mist.  Orange ones let you teleport, of course.  You probably know all this, already.”  The big man did _not_ know, and did not understand, but he let Dantro chatter on uninterrupted by questions, gleaning from the barrage of confusion what knowledge he could.   “You say you have martial training?  You’re a soldier, then?  Or a militiaman, or something?  Don’t want to know what a Fereldan soldier would be doing flying low over Dalmasca at this time, but… well, whatever.  Maybe it would even be a good thing.  Not good times for Dalmasca, these.  I said we were a kingdom, but that’s not really true, you see.  Our king is dead and our nation is taken.  Occupied.  The Archadeans.  Caught us with our trousers down, they did.  Right on the heels of pretty Princess Ashe’s wedding they put the heel to us hard, they did, and killed her bridegroom and everyone living in the City-State of Nabudis along with him.  No one knows how.  It was surrender or share their fate, I guess.  That must’ve been what poor King Raminas was thinking, at least.  Now it’s up to Princess Ashe to negotiate the terms of our surrender, since the _bloody traitor_ did for Raminas.  They’re sending someone to meet with her in Rabanastre at week’s end.  Our new ‘Sovereign-Consul,’ they’re calling the bastard.  Princess Ashe will probably have to marry the bastard, and her Lord Rasler not even cold in his grave.  Her uncle’s coming from Bhujerba as a ‘neutral party’ to help with the negotiations.”

 

It all sounded very familiar, the small kingdom swallowed up by the powerful empire, but he would not be getting sucked in to the political goings-on of this kingdom. He had no business doing so.  He let the gabble wash over him virtually unheeded.  The information was useful as a means of judging the local temperament, but that was all.

 

A chorus of yips and high-pitched howls broke the desert silence, and Dantro held out his torch to cast more light on the surrounding area. “Better ready your sword, big man,” he said.  “Wolves.”  Small, dark shadows with glowing eyes appeared over a dune, and quickly closed the distance.

 

“Are they mad?” the big man asked as he drew his sword and began his slaughter of the strange creatures, one after another in a sort of quick-stepping dance. They were nothing like the wolves he was familiar with, beginning with their unnatural aggression and ending with their odd appearance.  They were small, little more than twenty pounds or so, with orange coats shot with white and black, and bat-like ears and split nostrils.  They barely looked canine as he was familiar with the term.

 

Dantro waited to answer his question until the last wolf fell beneath the big man’s blade. “Not mad,” he said at last.  “Mist-born.  Your Ferelden must not have much for Mist if you’re not familiar with the concept.  The Mist runs pretty thick here in Dalmasca and most places ‘round so it’s very common.  Most of our creatures are Mist-born, and that’s why hunters are so prized.  Anyone who’ll risk his life to weed out a few of the dangerous critters running around for a few hours is something of a hero to us.  Good money in it, too.  I know someone in Rabanastre will help you find your way home, but… well, if worse comes to worst, you look like you could go far as a hunter.”

 

Dantro gave him the loan of his belt knife and the big man skinned out his kills for their pelts. Dantro used a magic spell to stretch and dry them instantly, which shocked the big man and made him wary.  “What’s the matter?  Haven’t you ever seen someone cast a spell before?” Dantro asked.  The big man of course said that yes, he had, but he remained wary.  “You should learn that one yourself, even if the Mist in your homeland _is_ scarce.  It doesn’t cost too much to use.”

 

 _“I_ can’t cast magic,” the big man said.

 

“What? Of course you can.  Don’t be silly,” Dantro said.  “Everybody can cast magic.  It’s just a matter of Mist and willpower.  Come on: we’ll surely find more wolves as we keep walking.  I’ll teach you the spell and you can try it for yourself.  I bet you’ll be surprised.  It’s really very easy.”

 

The big man kept his own counsel on that, but they proceeded onward. They did not, at first, encounter more wolves, but rather large, round birdlike creatures that rolled about on the desert sands like feathered and fifty pound Antivan bocce balls.  One of them -- bigger, maybe seventy pounds -- unrolled and squawked a warning at them.  “Nekhbet,” Dantro whispered.  “Considered rare game, so the meat and feathers are worth quite a bit on the market.  Kind of a risk, though.  Has spit that slows you down, and with three normal cockatrices to fight alongside it?  May be best to give it a pass.”

 

The big man looked at the unfamiliar greatsword in his hand, plain iron like the longsword he’d used for so long yet better suited to his height and reach. He’d never given a thought to using a greatsword.  He’d fought with his old standard army-issue longsword -- his _father’s_ old standard army-issue longsword -- since he was still a boy not yet fully grown, and it had never occurred to him to fight with another, though he’d taken many fine blades of every type as trophies.  He gave the hilt of the greatsword a spin in his hand and caught it, testing the heft.  It felt right to him.  He drew his arm back and lunged forward, shoving the heavy blade with all his might down the open beak of the largest bird and wrenched it out again, dripping blood.  The nekhbet died with a strangled squawk.  The three lesser cockatrices attacked, and the big man got quite badly pecked in a few places on his lower legs before he’d managed to kill the rotund little things.

 

“Well fought!” Dantro said. “They got a few pecks in, too, though, didn’t they?  I suppose if you think you can’t cast magic that you don’t know even the most simple of cure spells, eh?  Well, that’s easily taught, and easily cast.  Come here, I’ll teach you.”  Dantro proceeded to instruct the big man in a simple spell of healing that only required a bit of concentration and thought of the word “cure,” pronounced “coo-ray.”  The big man was surprised and a trifle displeased to discover he was able to cast this spell upon himself, but all his wounds knit on the instant without so much as a scar left behind so at least it was useful.  If he could cast magic, he should probably learn as much as he was capable of casting.  Useful stuff, if dodgy.  And nerve-wracking.  “You can cast that spell upon anyone now,” Dantro said.  “Just concentrate on them.  Most spells work similarly.”

 

The big man shouldered his kills, hauling the heavy burden in his left hand. Dantro eyed this in awe.  “Damn.  Awfully strong, aren’t you?  Those birds couldn’t weigh less than fifty pounds apiece, not even counting the nekhbet, which weighs more than that.”

 

“I keep in training.”

 

“To say the least.”

 

They soon left the open desert for a series of steep-sided wadis where the creatures ran plentiful and quite dangerous. “We’re almost to the outpost, where I post guard three days a week, and it’s safe from fiends there, but it can be a long trek from here to there if you’re not careful.  They call this region the Labyrinth, ‘cause you can get turned around pretty easy.  Just keep to the north wall for now and you’ll do fine,” Dantro said.  A pair of wolves attacked and the big man killed them both with a single blow, and Dantro taught him the indispensable skinning spell to stretch and dry his pelts for him once he’d taken them.  He now had two spells to his credit.  Two magic spells, when before he was quite certain he could cast not a one.  A strange place, this.

 

“You don’t have to worry about demons, here?” he asked.

 

“Demons? What’s a -- oh, do you mean like a Baateezu, or like those funky tall urstrix-like things they’ve got somewhere down south?  I hear they call _them_ demons, for some reason.  Doesn’t seem like a fitting name.”

 

“What’s a Baateezu?” the big man asked, feeling as though he might regret the question.

 

“Well, it’s a type of being, but they’re pretty nasty. They come from someplace nasty, they say.  I don’t really understand, but I guess it’s somewhere deep down underground.  In any event, there’s all kinds of them, but they all stand out, and they’re all kind of… well, I guess I’d have to say ‘evil.’  Don’t like saying that about anyone, but I guess it’s true, even though I’ve never met one myself.  Some people call ‘em demons.  I guess they’re not the only things that people call demons, but they’re the first things that pop to my mind.”

 

“Do they… possess people? Take over their bodies and minds?” the big man asked.

 

“I… I don’t _think_ so.  Never heard a story like that, anyway.”

 

“Then I don’t think they’re my kind of demons. They’re not drawn to magic?”

 

Dantro shook his head. “No more than anyone else is, I would venture to say.  Most of them are physical fighters, I’ve heard, those that don’t have their own special natural magicks.”

 

“Magic without the drawback of demonic possession. Interesting place I’ve fetched up in,” the big man said as he folded his pelts and re-shouldered his birds.

 

“The way you kill creatures, you’ll probably tame something before long. If you stick around long enough,” Dantro said as they started on their way again.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You’re not familiar with taming? You really must not have a lot of fiends where you’re from.  See, sometimes, when a hunter kills something and proves he’s a whole lot stronger than what he killed, the gods make a gift to him of that creature.  They take its body and put a tiny piece of the hunter’s soul inside it, and it will be your steadfast companion for the rest of your life, contained within a Life Crystal for all time, ready to come forth and serve you at a word.”

 

“That sounds… creepy. It takes a piece of your _soul?”_

 

“Oh, the soul is infinite. You could tame millions of critters and never have any less soul than what you started with.  Stories tell of great heroes of the ancient days who did just that, too.  Of course, most hunters never tame more than a wolf or a cactite or two.  Still, anything’s better than nothing.”

 

More magic. Stranger and more… _frightening_ … than any magic he had ever heard of in his life.  Not that it didn’t sound useful, in its way.  There were things he could do with an invincible hunting dog, if it really did obey.  He felt the usual deep pang in his chest as he thought about his old mabari, but if ever there were a good time for moving on, perhaps he had found it.  For moving on from… everything.  He was not so sure as Dantro that he would find any assistance in going home in this Rabanastre.  The more he learned about the place the more _disconnected_ from his home he felt.  He had traveled somehow far further than a ship could take him.  If only he could remember.

 

And then, perhaps… it was _best_ if he didn’t find a way back home.  Best for everyone.  This place might not be under the choicest of circumstances, but he could probably make a decent life here, hunting.  And he didn’t necessarily have to confine himself to Rabanastre and Dalmasca, either.  He could travel.  See the world.  Apparently there was a great deal more of it than he’d previously been aware of.  Might even be -- dare he think it? -- rather fun.  Living for fun was quite an alien concept.  He wondered if it was too late for him to learn how to do it.  He wondered if he really wanted to.  How would it feel to live without a cause to fight for?  To die for?  A life of no purpose seemed so empty, not that he hadn’t lived his life long and full enough already.

 

They came to the outpost, an area where the arroyos came together at a single, wider area. Oddly, there seemed to be no creatures there.  “No Mist here,” Dantro explained.  “Or at least, that’s what people think.  In any event, the fiends avoid the place, even the bred-born ones, so it’s a nice place to stop and rest, which is why the kingdom likes to post a permanent guard here.  There’s patrolmen out all over the Estersand, but people can come into the outpost and tell about something nasty they encountered and I’ll pass word on to the Estersand patrol for them, or in severe cases post a bounty.  If it’s near enough I’ll go and get it myself, but I’m not really supposed to leave the outpost unmanned.”

 

“Do you have to stay here now?” the big man said, looking around the quiet little guard post.

 

“Not yet. My shift starts at sunup. _Someone_ should be here now.  Tihrzat.  Maybe he’s using the facilities.”

 

“Ho, there, Danny -- don’t go spreading nasty rumors about me, eh?” a loud voice broke from the shadows.

 

“Hey, Tihrzat. Where were you hiding?” Dantro said.

 

“My seventy-two hours are almost up. Can you blame me for finding a nice, dark corner to rest my eyes in for a couple of quiet hours before my relief shift comes along?  You’re here a bit early.  What’chou up to?”  Tihrzat stepped into the torchlight and revealed himself to be a seven-foot tall, green-skinned lizard-like being with a large, wyvern-like head and four long, floppy ears.  Or perhaps two long, floppy, _split_ ears.  The big man couldn’t help but stare.

 

“What’s the matter, boy? Never seen a bangaa before?” Tihrzat asked.

 

The big man shook his head. “I am sorry, Ser, but no, no I haven’t.”

 

“Huh. Where in the Nine Hells do _you_ come from, then?”

 

“Ferelden, Ser. It’s a… long way from here.”

 

“He kind of dropped in on us at South Bank Village unexpectedly, Tihrzat,” Dantro said. “I’m taking him to Rabanastre, where he should be able to find a way to get home.  Apparently they don’t have gate crystals anywhere near his homeland, or at least he isn’t seein’ ‘em right now.  Seems to have some gaps in his memory.  Would’ve thought our gate crystal was strong enough to clear it up, but maybe the South Gate crystal in the Big R will do the trick.  Or just a good night’s sleep.  I didn’t give him much, and there’s certainly better beds than a too-small blanket on the riverbank.”

 

“Dropped in? At night?”

 

“Literally,” Dantro said. “Fell on top of one of the houses and caved in the roof.  We reckon he fell off the deck of a low-flying skyplane, but he doesn’t seem to remember what happened.  Doesn’t even seem to know what an airship _is,_ even.”

 

“Really, now?” Tihrzat said, giving the big man a strange look. He took a deep sniff of the air around him.  “You know, you smell kind of funny, there, too, big fella.  Awfully fresh and clean, like you were just brought into the world somehow, and awfully… Misty.  Aw, but that doesn’t mean anything, does it?  Just that you’re a good bather.  Don’t listen to me.  Good luck, fella.  Don’t let me keep you.  Dantro’s gotta get back here in time to send me home to sleep for the next three days.”

 

“He’s right, Big Guy -- dawn approaches,” Dantro said. “Come on -- it’s still a-way’s to the city.”

 

“Lead on, Ser.”

 

Dantro took his torch and led the way through a narrow rock fissure into a much wider area that might have qualified as a canyon, though it didn’t seem particularly long as the big man was fairly certain he could see the city’s walls and towers rising up at the end of it not far away. A few heavy impact tremors on the sandy ground, and a massive, dark-skinned creature hove into sight from behind a rock wall.  Thirty feet tall and forty feet long, with a massive head that was mostly jaws, tiny forearms that looked absolutely useless, and a long, powerful tail to balance out the head.  The big man drew his sword, instantly on the alert as the creature stomped into view, ready to defend himself, but Dantro held him back with a calm hand.

 

“Don’t worry. If you don’t bother it, it won’t bother you,” he said.

 

“What is it?” the big man said in a shaky voice.

 

“Wild saurian. Most of them are very aggressive, but for some reason this one isn’t.  That’s why nobody puts a bounty out on it.  If someone killed it, the gods would put another one here that wouldn’t be so friendly.  This one helps keep the wolf population down.  You probably won’t need to fight through here.  Probably.”

 

“Yeah. All right.  If you say so.”  Ice-blue eyes still staring wide-open and fixed on the wild saurian, the big man slowly with a slightly trembling hand returned his sword to its scabbard.  He followed after Dantro as the man led on towards the city walls in the near distance.

 

There was a small tree, growing on a tiny plateau of sandstone in the middle of the canyon floor. The big man gazed upon it with almost as much wonder as the wild saurian.  How did it stay alive out here?  He hadn’t seen any other trees anywhere, though there had to be more to this desert than what he had seen thus far.  He assumed the tree was alive, at least, for in the indirect torchlight he thought he saw leaves upon it, but it was still quite dark beyond that little circle of light, and he couldn’t be quite certain.  He probably could have seen it better without the torch, truth be told.  He had excellent night vision.

 

They worked their way out of the canyon and there sat Rabanastre, all walls and towers, a dark and, as far as the big man could see, ugly edifice of spires and minarets that split the night sky like immunization needles and squat walls that sat the desert like a dried-up bullfrog whose injections had come far too late. Dantro led him up to a paved forecourt before a massive closed gate.

 

“Well, this is where I’ll have to leave you, because I really have to get back to the outpost,” he said. “You should touch the gate crystal; it’ll recharge your Mist and maybe boost your memory.  It’s right over there, see?  This one’s blue, the one in the South Gate forecourt is orange, like South Banks Village’s, see?  Anyway, good to know you, er… hey, I never did get your name, did I?” He held out his hand to shake as he stumbled over the goodbye.

 

The big man looked down at the offered hand uncertainly and committed what he considered the First Sin. “I… can’t remember my name, Ser.  I remember a lot, but there’s a lot more I’ve forgotten, and for right now at least my name is just… gone.  Hopefully it’ll come back soon.”  He swallowed the dry lump in his throat.

 

“Oh. Well.  Whatever your name is, you’re welcome back in South Banks anytime.  You need something, just call on Dantro, all right?”  And Dantro grabbed his big hand and shook it vigorously.  Then he turned and left.

 

The big man stood and watched the torch light fade into the distance, then turned and approached the gate, wondering exactly how he was supposed to gain entry into the city. There didn’t seem to be any guardsmen of whom he could beg entrance.  But the massive gate slid open as he approached, startling him.  He squared his shoulders and entered.  Maker help him, this looked to be his home now.


	2. The Soldier and the Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunting and being hunted.

Stairs. Then, a paved courtyard, with a grand fountain, all routes leading apparently only to the three gates out of the city and to a beautiful view of a rather unctuous palace, overdone and far too charming.  The big man sat down on the edge of the low pony wall overlooking the palace gardens and lowered the burden of his kills to the ground for a moment so he could rest and think.  The strangeness of his situation really hadn’t had time to sink in completely.  Somehow -- somehow -- he had been transported from Ferelden to Dalmasca, a place he had never before heard of, a place where powerful magic was apparently considered… _incidental_ … a place where he, of call people, could perform magic _himself…_

 

It was really too much to be considered. Perhaps this was all a particularly vivid Fade dream.  He didn’t usually have very vivid dreams.  If he did, they were of fighting in pitched melee stark naked.  He didn’t have to understand a thing about that newfangled psychobabble philosophy that King Maric was so fond of to understand that the spirits were preying upon his deep-seated fear of being caught unaware and unprepared.  Like now.  But ever forward.  He shouldered his pelts and his birds again and found a small street exiting to the east as the first rays of dawn pinked the horizon over the city walls in that direction and followed the pavement wherever it would lead him.

 

He found himself coming out on a wide street headed north to south, lined with shops built one against the other in a line of two or three stories tall. Sconces lit the doorways of these shops, the substances inside glowing orange.  It did not look like fire.  With the first light of dawn, shopkeepers were out sweeping stoops and putting up daily special signs and just generally getting ready to open for the day, and none of the ones he could see were human.  There were two bangaa and a fat pig-like fellow with tusks further down the street he could not put a race to.  His lack of local knowledge hit him like a blow.  It seemed he had much to learn, not just about magic; it was like starting his life over again.  The concept was daunting.

 

“Excuse me, young man,” the nearer and clearly elder of the two bangaa said, coming a few steps nearer. He was blue-skinned, well-dressed, and slightly stooped with age.  White fur grew in patches on his snout and his four long ears.  His manner spoke of kindness and concern.  “You look a bit lost.  Are you all right?”

 

His old self would have been indignant, angry, even as he recognized the truth of the old man’s words. The big man knew he needed to change that about himself, so he tamped down the knee-jerk reaction and stepped a few steps toward the man.  “I’ll say.  This is my first visit to Rabanastre and I know her streets and ways not at all.  It’s still too early, I suppose, but I’m looking for a place to sell what I took hunting last night.”

 

“Well, I’ll happily buy those birds from you. Give you more than you’ll get at a regular butcher, and I’ll buy the feathers off you, too.  But you should check the crops, first.  You never know what a cockatrice has swallowed.  Come on inside.”

 

The big man took a glance at the narrow signboard swinging out in front of the shop as he passed. “Migelo’s Sundries, eh?  I take it then you are Migelo?” he said.

 

“That’s me. Old Migelo, folks call me.  Two hundred and forty-seven this next Name Day, which is coming faster than I like.  They roll around faster and faster the older you get, believe me.  I’ve been in business here on this street longer than anybody.  Heh.  In this city, actually, though there are businesses that are older, just not the current proprietors thereof.  Now, let’s see what you’ve got, eh?  My, that’s quite a number of birds you’ve taken.  And a nekhbet, too?  Hauling them all on one shoulder like that must be tiring, even as big as you are.  You are… a hume, aren’t you?”

 

“A what?”

 

“Hume. Like ninety-eight percent of everyone else that runs around Dalmasca.  All the short, blond, well-tanned people you so obviously aren’t yet who otherwise look most like you.”

 

“You mean… human? Yes, I’m human.”

 

“You have another word for the race. You must come from a long ways off, then.  Just wondering, because while you smell all nice and fresh and clean, you still smell awfully… dragony.  You been around dragons lately, young man?” Migelo said, caution reflected in the one black eye the big man could see with the way his great, wyvern-like head was tilted.

 

“I… _do_ seem to remember something about a dragon battle, but the memories aren’t exactly clear,” the big man said, committing the Second Sin.  “I seem to be suffering some degree of memory loss that your gate crystals haven’t been able to fix.”

 

“Well if you were fighting a dragon, you’re a lucky man if all that happened was you took a knock to the head.”

 

“Yes. I suppose so,” the big man said, carefully not looking at the old storekeeper.  He laid his kills out on the store’s counter for the old man to get a better look at.  He had taken seven fifty-pound cockatrices in addition to the nekhbet, a heavy and awkward load even for him, and he was glad to put it down again.  The old man started making him up a bill of sale.

 

“Let’s see, seven cockatrice, regular-sized, sixty gil each, that comes to four hundred and twenty gil, plus seven skins with feathers, thirty gil each, comes to two hundred and ten gil, a total of six hundred and thirty gil, plus one nekhbet, oh, I’d say… ” he hefted the bigger bird “… one hundred gil, plus skin with feathers, sixty gil, adds up to a grand total of seven hundred and ninety gil. Not too bad, I’d say, considering you haven’t even really gotten started hunting our wild spaces yet, have you, young man?  Will you be staying in Rabanastre awhile?”

 

“Probably.”

 

“Well, I can’t say you’ve come at the best of times, but if you ever have cockatrice meat, you know where to bring it. I’ll always pay good coin for wild cockatrice meat.  Now, let’s take these out back and skin ‘em and hang ‘em up to drain, and we’ll check their crops and gizzards and see if they have any treasures you might have overlooked.”

 

The cockatrices turned out to contain numerous small treasures: fire stones, which Migelo said were worth a few hundred silver apiece to a jeweler, and a small red stone he called a flame gem and claimed was almost priceless. The big man didn’t think it looked much different from a fire stone, just a bit bigger, perhaps, but Migelo claimed he had stumbled into exceptional good luck and he did know that he didn’t have much of an eye for stones and jewels himself.  “Take those stones to Hopti’s Jewels in the North End of the city, my boy, and you’ll come away with actual gold for your efforts.  Most hunters don’t see real gold unless they bag a dragon, and that’s hard to do,” Migelo said.  Then, too, there were a couple of pieces of shiny blue magicite stone, almost glowing it seemed, and the nekhbet turned out to have been a female carrying a rainbow-hued egg of giant size in a pouch on her underbelly that Migelo claimed was worth a small fortune on its own.  “I don’t have the connections to get you the most out of this, but I know a fellow, yes I do.  The problem is tracking him down, but Old Migelo has connections of his own, yes I do.  If you want to leave this with me, young fellow, I can put this in my ice chest so it will stay fresh and cool, and I’ll track down that fellow for you and bring him here to meet you.  Can you stick around a bit?  Maybe not here precisely, but in the region so I can get hold of you?”

 

“I have nowhere in particular to be,” the big man said. “Actually, I was hoping to find a place to sleep for a few hours.  Ever since I found myself here in Dalmasca, I’ve been quite worn out.  The trek to Rabanastre from South Banks Village, brief as it was, did me no favors.  Is there an Inn nearby?”

 

“Well, you’re not far from the Sandsea, but save your coin, lad -- I’ve got an empty apartment above my shop I’ve been trying to rent out that you can use for a few hours, if you want.”

 

“Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

 

“Nonsense. It’s all bangaa-sized, so it should fit you pretty well.  Maybe you’ll even decide to rent the place, if you think you’re going to stay in Rabanastre for awhile.  So you see, I’m really being selfish,” Migelo said, with a wink.

 

“I tend to break staircases,” the big man said, looking down at his feet.

 

“Pardon?” Migelo asked.

 

“Just what I said. Unless they’re made of very stout stone, I typically can’t climb to a second story.  Too heavy.”

 

“My… stairs _are_ stone.  Well… concrete, actually.  Tile over concrete.”

 

“I shouldn’t like to risk it, Ser.”

 

“You can’t be _that_ heavy.  You’re human.  And not at all fat.”

 

“And the last time I was weighed out of my armor I outbalanced the cargo scale against an avvari -- that’s… the largest breed of horse we know of back where I come from, weighs about fifteen hundred pounds. Suffice to say tile doesn’t hold up under my feet very long -- especially when I’m armored.”

 

“Well. I don’t… know how that could be possible, but --”

 

“Neither do I.”

 

Migelo spread his three-fingered hands. “Ah… you can kip out on my storeroom floor, if you’re really tired.  The Sandsea Inn is all second-floor, too, I’m afraid.  You’ll find that all over town, as far as I’m aware.  Not sure where to look for first-story real estate at this point, and pretty much the whole city is concrete and tile, even the streets, although that tile is made of polished stone.  Heavy wagons and slaven used to go up and down them for ages, and the wagons still do -- I think you won’t break them.  Anyway, you’re welcome to my storeroom for as long as you need it.  Not exactly the height of luxury.”

 

“It would suit me just fine, thank you, but I don’t want to put you out,” the big man said.

 

“It’s not putting me out, there’s plenty of unused floor space back there. And… maybe you’d do me a small favor when you waken?  I’d have one of the children who run errands for me do it but the load is probably too heavy for them.”

 

“I can run this errand for you now if where you’re sending me is open to errand boys at this hour.”

 

“They would be, but are you certain you’re not too tired?” Migelo said.

 

“Ah, I can always go a little bit farther,” the big man said, with a wave of the hand.

 

“Well don’t work yourself to death, my boy, you’ve got a lot of life left ahead of you. Anyway, what I need is to have you run to the Sandsea Inn and see if my shipment of wines is ready for delivery yet.  They should have had one of their men bring it themselves, but if it’s a matter of not having anyone, could you please bring it yourself?  I’ve been looking for that wine for days now, and I don’t have much time left before my need for it is imminent.  It shouldn’t be much of a load for you, not after what you carried in here.  If they still don’t have it, could you just please try and find out why?  Ask for Tomaj, he should be able to tell you something.”

 

“All right, well… where is this Sandsea, then?”

 

“Straight north, where the road jogs, to your right, biggest storefront in the East End, which is where you are now,” Migelo said, pointing to the north. “Can’t miss the place, there’s a dining patio right out in front.  Thank you for this, my lad.  If I don’t get those wines, why… well… it won’t be good.”

 

“I’ll bring them back to you, Ser, or I’ll have a damn good reason why they’re so late.” The big man shook hands with Migelo and headed out the door.  On the stone tiles outside, his heavy stride became purposeful.  Already the street was growing crowded as businesses began to open their doors for the morning, and he saw more and more peoples strange to his eyes.  Humans with cat ears on top of their heads.  Tiny mouse like beings with pompoms of varying colors floating on antennae above their heads.  More of the big, fat, pig-looking creatures with tusks.  A score or more of bangaa in all colors.  A tall, stately dark-skinned human-looking woman with tall rabbit-like ears.  A small flurry of otherwise human-looking women with arms that seemed to end in wings and great fanned feathered tails of various colors.  And everywhere about there were what appeared to be humans, but all of them quite short, quite slim, quite tanned, and quite blond.  It seemed to be the national average.  White-skinned, dark-haired, and tall and broad even among his tall, burly countrymen, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

 

He felt the weight of eyes on him. He resolutely plowed his way onward through the throng, taking care only that he did not step on one of the little mouse-like fellows or one of the seemingly many children that ran about, laughing and calling to each other as they no doubt picked pockets and cut purse strings through the crowd.  Probably out of necessity, if he understood this city’s problems correctly.  They were most likely war orphans, living on the streets by their wits and what little charity they could find.  He put it out of his mind.  He wasn’t much better off at the moment, but at least he had the means of making his way in the world.  If this “flame gem” was as valuable as Migelo claimed, he might be able to set himself up well, even if he had to sleep on the floor of Migelo’s stockroom.  He’d slept in worse places, Maker knew.

 

He found the jog in the road easily enough, a place where the road actually made a sharp z-turn around a magic shop that startled him with its audacity, even with what he’d learned about the ease with which these people accepted magic and its use. Directly across the street was the inn, already bustling with early-morning breakfasters.  He entered, and asked a sunny blonde-haired waitress for Tomaj.  She turned and gestured at a similarly short, slim-built blond-haired man, and the man, who looked to be around thirty or so, stepped away from the bar area and looked the big man over unabashedly.

 

“My, you’re a big fellow, aren’t you? I reckon you’re not from around here, or I’d have seen you somewhere around town by now.  What can I get for you?”

 

“I’m looking for either some wines or some information. For Old Migelo down the road.”

 

“Ahh,” the young man said, grimacing. “I expected he’d send someone soon.  Hoped it’d be one of his kids and not someone so… intimidating.  The fact is, I can’t get Migelo his shipment of wines until I get _my_ shipment of wines, and as of this time my shipment of wines are probably stuck somewhere out in the Estersand.  There’s some nastiness out there that’s been attacking merchant caravans on their way past the outpost, and I posted a bounty on it, but the bounty is small and the fiend is smaller -- grade one, kiddie stuff.  Not enough for the serious hunters.  Even the outpost guards laugh at it.  But this thing takes on chocobos, so its nastier than it seems, and if this isn’t taken care of, every merchant in the city will feel the pinch sooner rather than later.”

 

“What is this creature?” the big man asked.

 

“A rogue tomato.”

 

“A _what?”_

 

“A rogue… you’re not familiar with mandragora, are you? They’re like cactoids, sort of.  Walking plant creatures.”

 

“Cactoids?”

 

“You really are new around here. Look -- my bounty posting’s over on the Hunt Board on the back wall there.  Take a look at it and maybe you’ll understand a bit better.  It’s kind of hard to explain.  The picture shows better than I can tell you.”

 

The big man walked cautiously over to the back wall and found the bounty poster among the many such tacked to the corkboard hanging there. The color drawing on the poster depicted what looked like a tiny man with a striped body and a ripe tomato for a head.  Stem and all.  He scratched his own head and pondered that while he read the details of the hunt.  The reward was three hundred gil and two potions of unspecified function, plus something called a teleport stone, which he remembered Dantro having mentioned.  He took the poster down and returned with it to Tomaj.

 

“This thing, is it really all that bad? If so, why won’t anyone hunt it?” he said.

 

Tomaj sighed. “Well, the Hunt Board calls it grade one -- which is less than run of the mill, and to an extent it really is.  Mandragora from this area really aren’t a big problem -- usually.  But this one, it’s got _fire breath_.  And it seems to have a special predilection for attacking chocobos.  The Hunt Board doesn’t seem to have taken that into consideration.  And neither will anyone else.  If I had the money, I’d up the bounty, but with the war and all, everyone’s on hard times these days.”

 

“I’ll take care of it for you,” the big man said without thinking much about it.

 

Tomaj blinked. “You will?  Well, I’d… be deeply appreciative.  And I’d throw in a free hot meal on top of the bounty, to show my thanks, anything you want from the menu.  And hey -- I’ll even pay you something extra if you bring me the head of the thing.  I’ve never served rogue tomato, but I’ve heard they’re delicious.  Rogue tomato bisque.  I’ll make it the Special of the Day.”

 

“Sounds like we’ve got a deal, Ser. I’ll be back shortly with your prize.  Somewhere before the outpost, correct?  In wild saurian-patrolled lands, then, I suppose.  I would venture to guess then this thing is smart enough not to bother the big toothy thing.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

The big man turned to leave, but movement from the upper level of the dining room caught his eye. He turned his head to look and saw a fairly tall, dark-haired, fair-skinned man, almost as out of place in this city as he himself was, gesturing to him.  “Please, may I speak with you for a moment?” the man said in a hushed voice.  Eyes narrowed, the big man skipped the three narrow steps completely and prayed that the tile floor above wouldn’t give way beneath his considerable weight.  Remarkably to him, it held.

 

“Who are you and what do you want?” he said as the dark-haired man led him to a booth in the shadows where a hooded person sat staring at folded hands on the table.

 

“Straight to business. I respect that,” the man said.  “I need to ask a favor of you.”

 

“You haven’t yet told me who you are. So who are you to ask me favors?”

 

The man breathed out a gusty chuckle. “I suppose you cannot trust me if I cannot trust you.  I am Captain Vossler York Azelas, of the Order of the Dalmascan Knights.  We… no longer exist, officially.”

 

“I see. And what sort of favor can I do for you, Captain?” the big man said, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking one eyebrow.

 

“See my sister safely to the outpost, where I will meet you and take her onward. That is all.”  He gestured to the hooded figure seated at the table, who made no acknowledgment of having been brought into the conversation.

 

“And what are you and your sister fleeing?”

 

“We’re not fleeing anything.”

 

“Then why the secrecy? Why can’t you take her to the outpost yourself?  Why ask a total stranger to take her for you?”

 

Vossler sighed. “All right.  I’ve never been good at… covert operations.  That was Basch’s bag.  She’s not my sister, but she needs to get out of the city, and fast.  I was to take her, passing her off as my sister, while a young soldier passed herself as her at the palace.  But the switch was noticed too soon, and the Imperials are after me.  She cannot be captured.  I ask you because you are dark-haired, and, well… because you stand out so much that everyone will notice you, so probably no one will notice her.  I’d not have you getting in trouble for this.”

 

“So what’s the plan? I take her through the gates with every Imperial soldier on my tail?  They’ll see me walking out with her.”

 

“They’ll see _me_ walking out with her.  This is another soldier, made up to look like her.  She’s waiting for you down the street, which is why I am anxious to get this operation underway.  We must hurry; the more people who see us speaking, the more chances our cover is blown.”

 

“Exactly. So, she already knows who to expect is coming for her, then?” the big man asked.

 

“Yes. Forgive the impertinence, but the moment I laid eyes on you this morning, I knew you were perfect.  We’ll lead the Imperials out the West Gate.  You head out the East.  It should be as easy as that.  If I am unable to meet you at the outpost, one of my lieutenants will, a woman named Calypsa.  Take good care of her.”

 

“Take care of yourself, Captain.” Wondering just why he was getting involved in this, the big man stepped carefully down from the upper dining area and out the front door, expecting to be arrested by guardsmen the minute he did so.  No one was there, however, except for a hooded spy not quite carefully concealed enough across the street, and the big man gave him not a glance as he headed south again, calmly focused only on his own business.  He sensed rather than saw when Vossler and the soldier left the premises for the crowd behind him, and gave no sign of acknowledgment when a young woman with too-dark hair under her hood fell into step from an alcove beside him.

 

“You could lessen your stride so that I may keep up,” she said, in a hushed and grouchy voice.

 

“If I did that, people might stop to wonder why,” he said in return. “Besides, it is perhaps best if we are not seen too closely in step.  Come along, dear.”

 

“Don’t call me ‘dear,’” she said in tones of clear command.

 

“Shall I call you ‘sister,’ then? I think you’re rather too young.”

 

“I am probably older than you.”

 

He laughed. “I think you’re sun-blind, my dear, but let us not dawdle.  Your brother awaits at the outpost.”  As they moved through the crowd of morning shoppers, he kept all senses peeled for anyone whose curiosity was more than casual.  Everyone was interested in this giant of a human among them, but thus far, no one seemed to be tailing them.  Good.  He didn’t need to be tossed into a dungeon his first day in the city.  They made it to the courtyard with the fountain with no trouble and he led the way down the steps to the eastern gate, which opened on its own for them as it had for him that morning.

 

“Touch the gate stone,” the young woman whispered harshly as he set himself to pass by the blue crystal.

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Because everybody touches the gate stone. If you don’t do it, they’ll wonder why.”

 

“I’m already past the damn thing. Now they’ll wonder why I went back to it.  You touch it.  Then they won’t notice you,” he said.  She shook her head and laid her hand upon the crystal and followed after him, still shaking her head.  He headed into the Estersand not paying any particular attention to her, but when he saw a pair of strange creatures wandering about the sands below his eye line he had to ask a question.  “These things, these… wandering prickle plants…   These would be the cactoids I’ve heard about?”

 

She glanced. “I don’t know which they are.  I only know that the fat ones with bare heads will save your life if you’re out in the desert with no water, but the skinny ones with extra growths on their heads like this are poisonous.  I can never keep straight which is called what.  Still, I’ve heard brewers will pay good money for these ones.  They make some very potent liquor out of them.  Not that you or I are old enough to drink it.”

 

“You really are sunblind,” he said. “I’ve got a _daughter_ in her late twenties.”

 

“Bullshit,” she said, and then clapped a hand to her mouth. “Pardon me.  I shouldn’t say words like that.  No matter how ridiculous the claim.”

 

“What’s ridiculous about it? I’m fifty-four years old, and the last time I checked, I looked every bloody minute of it, if you’ll pardon _my_ language.”

 

“You are not fifty-four.”

 

“Of course, my lady. I forgot.  You are correct, and I simply do not know how old I am.”

 

“I do not say that you do not know how old you are, I say you are lying,” she said.

 

“To what end, exactly?”

 

“Damned if I know.”

 

He resisted the impulse to stop and take hold of her and give her a shake. They had to get to the outpost quickly: they didn’t have time for this ridiculous argument to slow them down.  She was slow enough as it was, stumbling through the sands like someone wearing dancing shoes.  He didn’t look back, but he hoped she wasn’t actually wearing dancing shoes.  That wouldn’t exactly be inconspicuous.  “What exactly makes you think I’m lying?  I have _always_ looked fifty-four, even when I was twenty-five.”

 

“Well then, you must have taken a draught from the fountain of youth, for I should venture to guess you were about eighteen or so now. Just a boy, really.  A very tall, muscle-bound boy playing a game he’s too young to fully understand.”

 

He laughed, just once. “Do you mean your political game?  I’ve been playing politics since I was twelve, all against my will.  Don’t give me a hand in anything diplomatic, but protecting kings and princesses?  I can do that.  I do it rather well.  You’re right, I don’t want to get drawn any deeper into your Dalmascan intrigues, but just this far is fine.  I’ll probably have to kill some people over this, but I’m good at that, too.  I’ll hand you over to your knight and pay the consequences as they come to me and wash my hands of this business as soon as possible.”

 

“Why did you do it at all, then?” she asked.

 

“Can’t really say. Something to do, I guess.  A bit of adventure, maybe.  A cause to live for, just a small one.  I really don’t know yet what’s going on here in this country but getting a young princess out of town before she’s forced to marry against her will, possibly, seems a worthwhile thing to do.”

 

“You know more than I expected, Outlander.”

 

“People talk.”

 

“I suppose they do at that. I hope that fact doesn’t cause trouble for you over this.”

 

“It probably will. Don’t worry your head about it; I’m pretty good at getting in and out of trouble.”  He gave his hands a close inspection and saw for the first time how smooth and blameless they were.  “So you say I look like a boy?  That’s… odd.  I never really have looked like a boy, not since I was very young indeed.  I had to give up my youth early.  I wonder how this came about.”

 

“Perhaps you hit your head and had a strange dream about being an old man? Or wandered the desert too long without water?” the princess said.  “That will do funny things to you.”

 

“Hmph. Strange dream indeed, if that was all my life was.  Here’s the outpost.”  The fissure leading into the rock face of the wall was still some ways distant, but it was good to caution her to silence before they reached the inhabited area, and frankly he was tired of speaking.  This new information about his apparent age was too much to ponder on top of everything else.  He put it from his mind for the time being, convinced himself it was a cruel trick the princess was playing for reasons of her own.  Anything else was too hard to imagine.

 

They sidled cautiously through the narrow space, watchful of strangers. The big man looked for Dantro as they entered the outpost itself, and found the man sprawled in the shade of the outpost’s small hut, bloody but still breathing.  Good.  He had worried about the man.  No one else seemed to be there, but he could sense them, high on the walls above, scouts or spies.  Good at their jobs, apparently, since he could not see them.  Hopefully just watching for pursuit and not there to capture them.  “Well, my lady, no telling how long your brother might be delayed.  You may as well have a seat,” the big man said, gesturing to a large cargo crate with one hand as he swept it clean of sand with the other.  Daintily she sat herself down to wait while he leaned against the sandstone rock face nearby and seemed to look at his feet but instead kept watch on both entries, ice-blue eyes darting back and forth from one to the other.

 

A half an hour passed. The young woman played with her hands in her lap.  “What’s taking them so long?  Shouldn’t they be here by now?  The outpost guard could’ve wakened at any time and ruined this whole operation,” she said, speaking very quickly as she shot to her feet and paced.

 

“Calm down. It takes time to get from one side of the desert to the other, even when you’re not trying to lose an Imperial tail.  As to the outpost guard, I’m betting he’s been given some form of medicinal mickey to keep him knocked out or he’d have wakened long before now.  Don’t worry about it.  He shows no sign of waking up just yet,” the big man said, not moving from his casual stance against the rock wall.

 

“How can you be so nonchalant about this?” she shrieked. “Don’t you understand what’s at stake here?”

 

“Probably better than you do. Just sit down and still your horses.  It will work out or we’ll fight our way out of here.  Either way, things will be fine.  Be easy.”

 

“We’ll be fighting an army, you realize that, don’t you?”

 

“When I say I’m good, I’m guilty of a fair degree of understatement. Sit still and shut up.  You’re making me nervous.”

 

“Oh, _I’m_ making you nervous,” she said, but she sat herself down.

 

Another fifteen or twenty minutes of nervous silence on the woman’s part, and someone entered through the Labyrinth entrance. The princess shot to her feet and the big man drew his sword, but it was Vossler.  He bowed low before the princess.  “I am sorry I kept you waiting, but it took some time longer than I imagined for our chocobos to outpace the Imperials.  Their velocycles did not all break at once, as we had attempted to ensure.  However, we managed to evade them successfully, and the rest of the men await us in the Estersand.  We will join them in a moment, Your Highness, after I take care of one last thing.”

 

“Tying up loose ends, Vossler?” the big man said, raising his sword again.

 

“Peace, my friend,” Vossler said. “Just giving you your due reward.”

 

“I didn’t do this for a reward.”

 

“Nevertheless, you have done Her Majesty and Dalmasca a great service today. That was dangerous and cannot go without some small reward at the least.  I cannot do much for you, but I can give you some coin at the least.  Here, please take it.”  The knight held out a large coin pouch that seemed quite heavy.

 

The big man sighed. “I could use the coin, that’s the truth,” he said, shaking his head.  “Then again I’d wager that here and now, so could you.  Who am I to take it?”

 

“The man who gave us the opportunity to see Dalmasca free again,” Vossler said simply. “Please.  Take it.”

 

Reluctantly, the big man reached out and took the offered coin. “Thank you.  It is greatly appreciated.”

 

The princess stepped forward. “I too, have a reward to offer you,” she said.  “You were not gracious in your assistance, but you gave it willingly, which is more than most would do, and you are not even a native to this land.  I cannot offer you the proper ceremony for such presentations, and I would suggest you not let anyone see that you bear such a thing, at least for a time, but I want you to have the last of Dalmasca’s Medallions of Might, awarded to the greatest of heroes, who put the welfare of others above their own.  As I said, keep it hidden for now or it might get you killed, but keep it on your person, for its powerful enchantments will also help keep you safe.  ‘For each deed performed, for better or worse, a power is granted, a blessing or curse.’”

 

“That sounds familiar somehow,” the big man said.

 

“The Medallion of Might is familiar across many kingdoms, under many different names,” the princess said. “Then, too, there is the Amulet of Avalor, which I myself wear.”  She pulled from beneath her collar a large pink stone on a golden chain.  “Princesses  across many planes bear this amulet, and it bears the same powers as the Medallion of Might, though it draws princesses together in times of need.  I do not believe the Medallion of Might does the same for heroes.  Apparently you are expected to work out your own problems.”

 

“I see. Yes, I believe I have seen both pieces before,” the big man said, looking from the pink stone to the diamond-studded cross.  He bowed at the waist to allow the princess to fasten the chain of the large silver medal around his neck.  He didn’t want it -- he’d already refused it more than once, back home, where it was called the Diamond Cross -- but he knew when his battles were over.  These people needed to get out of here.

 

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he said “And now I think you should get out of here before the Imperials get wise to where you really are.”

 

“He is correct, Your Majesty, we must make haste,” Vossler said.

 

“Yes, we must,” she said. “Fare thee well, Sir…  You never said your name.”

 

“Don’t have one,” he said. “None that could be spoken in the presence of a princess, Your Majesty.”

 

“That’s a strange thing to say,” she said. “Are you a criminal?”

 

“Depends on who you ask, I suppose. However, I do not break any laws if I do not _have_ to.” 

 

“A man of uncertain morals.”

 

“A man who gets what needs doing finished.”

 

“I see,” the princess said with a sniff. “Many kingdoms employ men of such… uncertain virtue.  I hope that when I regain mine, I shall not find it necessary.”

 

“Good luck to you on that, Milady,” the big man said, and tipped a light salute, turned around, and headed back in the direction of his prey.


	3. Stench-Ridden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Speaks for itself.

“Ah, my good fellow! You’ve returned!  I was worried about you, you were gone so long!” Migelo said as the big man walked through his front door, carrying high on his shoulder a large wooden crate.  “Oh, that must be heavy.  Here, let me help you with that.”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” the big man said. “Your wines, Ser.  I had to do some minor work for Tomaj to get him to relinquish them, but a fair day’s work for a fair day’s pay.  I now have three hundred silver coins for the actual work, sixty silver coins for the return of the meat, two sickly-looking green bottles of stuff I am told will heal me of most wounds I might incur on a daily basis, and a small orange stone I was assured will take me instantly from place to place if I merely fuse it to the side of one of those tall orange crystals I touched earlier.  I don’t quite understand the monetary system here.  Tomaj said something about ‘gil.’  I thought that was what fish breathed with, but apparently here it means something else.”

 

“Three hundred and sixty gil, eh?” Migelo said. “That’s a decent day’s pay for a simple delivery.  What did he have you do?”

 

“Some little monster with a tomato for a head was running wild in the desert making the supply caravans rethink traveling from the Outpost on to the city, and no hunter would take the ‘measly’ bounty. This being my first day in town and all, I’m hardly too proud to take on menial tasks.  I handled the little bugger.  Got my trouser knees singed by the fire breath, but otherwise came out all right.  Never seen anything like the little devil.  Where I come from, most plants don’t walk about, and they certainly don’t have teeth or spit fire at you.  The local hunters might consider it beneath them but I call it money well earned, even if it was hardly my most difficult opponent.”

 

“Well, you must be tired after that. You were already weary.  I’ve fixed up a spot in the stockroom for you with some pillows and blankets.  Not very comfortable, I’m afraid, but I did the best I could on short notice.  I’ll come up with better before long, if you stay.”

 

“Thank you, I am sure it will suit me fine.”

 

Migelo showed the big man into his back stockroom and the place he’d laid out for him at the back, and the big man gratefully lowered himself to the floor for a few hours rest as Migelo went about his work in the shop. When he’d slept long enough that his mind finally told him he’d wasted quite enough of the day and hunger drove him up, he rose to return to the Sandsea Inn and redeem that hot meal Tomaj had promised in addition to the bounty on the rogue tomato.

 

“Hello there, big fellow. Hungry?” Tomaj said as the big man walked through the inn’s front door.  “Ready for that meal I promised you?”

 

“I was thinking about it, yes,” the big man said.

 

“Ever had domestic cockatrice?”

 

“I’d never even heard of the wild ones before today.”

 

“You do come from a long way off. Well, you’re in for a treat.  Domestic is ten times better than wild, and wild is better than anything you’ve ever tasted before, I swear.  ‘Cept maybe behemoth steak, but you don’t get that in the desert, much, I’m afraid.  Imported just doesn’t taste as good as fresh.  If you ever get down around Paddra -- _they’ve_ got behemoth steak, let me tell you.”

 

“I’ll happily settle for cockatrice now, thanks.”

 

“Sure, sure. Coming right up.  With baked breadroot, steamed gysahl greens, half an ear of maize, sourdough biscuits and a nice wenberry cobbler for dessert, eh?”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

“And hey -- how about a small bowl of the Special of the Day on the side, eh? Tomato soup.”

 

 _“Rogue_ tomato soup?”

 

“Does it matter?” Tomaj said, grinning.

 

“Not the first time I’ve eaten a foe, but it would be the first time I’ve eaten a foe that seemed to be wearing clothing when I killed it.”

 

Tomaj waved off his concerns. “Don’t worry about it.  The gods play tricks like that on us all the time.  Give the creatures they create clothing, armor, even weapons.  It doesn’t mean anything.  They’re still only animals.  About the only things you’ve got to be careful with are dragons.  Some types of them are considered beings, and _some_ of them are even benign, but pretty much all the ones around these parts are just monsters like anything else.”

 

“How can you tell the difference?” the big man asked.

 

“Well, color’s a good indicator,” Tomaj said. “Most of the chromatic dragons are considered beings, and most of the metallic dragons as well.  Wingless or otherwise flightless dragons rarely have high intelligence.  Too ancient.  Dragons are unique in that most stages of their evolution still exist in the world today.”

 

“Evolution?”

 

“You don’t know about evolution? Ahh… stages of growth, basically.  When the Maker created the world he started life as something very basic -- just one single cell.  He gave these single cells orders to grow and become more and more complex as time went on, to become greater creatures as time went on.  To compete with each other, so that the weak would fail and the strong would flourish.  That is how the world came to be as it is today.  Someday, the world will be entirely different.”

 

The big man raised an eyebrow. “Interesting concept, but it would be considered awfully radical where I’m from.  How do your people know this?”

 

“Well, the Silvers say so, and they’re supposed to be the most intelligent form of life -- that’s the Silver Dragons -- and then, the Seeress says so, too. And a lot of our scientists have confirmed it in their research.  It’s the most widely-accepted explanation of life, at least, for most beings in Ivalice.”

 

“You know a lot about this kind of thing.”

 

“Mmm… a lot of hunters do.”

 

“You’re a hunter yourself, then?”

 

“Of a sort. Let me go get your order in.  We’ll talk more later, don’t you worry.”

 

Some time later, well-fed and quite happy about it, the big man got up and stepped to the back wall to check out the hunt board again. There were several hunts for the area that looked promising, including one that looked like it had been there awhile from Dantro at the Outpost.  He took the posters down.  Tomaj wandered up with his hands folded behind his back.

 

“Thinking of doing more hunting?” he asked.

 

“A man needs a profession, and it seems like there’s decent money to be made. I’ve always been good at killing things.”

 

“Oh yes, if you’re good, you can set yourself up well, hunting, despite the fact that you have to pour a lot of money into it to get anything out of it. A strong party of hunters can make a bloody fortune at it.  Don’t know how good you are with that sword, but you have the bearing of a soldier, and you look awful strong.  Get in friendly with some of the best of the local hunters and I wager you’ll go far.”

 

“I don’t really know anyone in town.”

 

“I know you don’t, but that’s easily remedied.” Tomaj reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a leather-bound book with a stylized green pig-being embossed upon the cover.  He handed it over.  “Take this to the North End and show it to the bangaa standing out in front of the building with the sign out front bearing that same symbol.  He’ll let you in.  Everything you need to be the best hunter around is inside that building.”

 

The big man looked at the book doubtfully. “Is this some sort of social club?  Because if it is, I’d just as soon not, thanks.”

 

“What it is, you’ll have to see for yourself. I’m not allowed to say.  I can say you’ll never regret finding out, and you can be as unsocial there as you like.  I’m telling you, it opens doors for a hunter.”

 

“Well, if you say so. I guess I can give it a shot.  Would do me good to learn to be more social, anyway, I suppose.”

 

“Whoa whoa whoa, wait a minute here, Tomaj,” a loud, rusty, growling voice said. “You can’t just go handin’ out Primers to all and sundry with a sword.  Look at this boy!  He ain’t got a scar nor a callus on ‘im!  Why, he’s fresh an’ pretty as a baby!  ‘Bearin’ of a soldier!’ _Pah!”_

 

“Oh, come on, Oghren, look at him! You can’t sit there and tell me that this man is not a hunter!” Tomaj said, turning towards the bar and the short, stocky, violently red-haired man who sat there with a large tankard in hand.

 

“That’s not even a man!” Oghren began, but the big man cut him off mid-insult, striding up to him and grabbing him by the hand and shaking vigorously.

 

“Oghren! Maker’s breath, man, I never thought I’d say this, but am I ever glad to see you!  How did you get here?  The man who found me could only guess that I fell off an airship, whatever that is, but I have no memory.”

 

The dwarf gave him an odd look. “Err… do I know you, buddy?  ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I ain’t never met you before in my life.”

 

The big man dropped the dwarf’s hand. “You… you’re not the man I knew?  You’re not from Ferelden?  But your face, your voice, your name, the ungodly stench… it’s all exactly the same.  I don’t understand what’s going on.  How could there be two men in the world exactly the same?  How far does one have to travel…?”

 

“Whoa, you’ve come over all pale, big man,” Tomaj said. “I think you’d better have a seat, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, I think I do need to sit down for a moment,” the big man said, and lowered himself into a nearby chair.

 

“You say you’re from Ferelden?” Tomaj said. “That’s… kind of funny.  I’ve heard of a place called Ferelden, in passing, but I don’t think you can get there by airship.”

 

The big man looked up from a casual examination of the toes of his boots. “You’ve heard of my homeland?” he asked hopefully.

 

“Like I said, in passing. There’s supposed to be someone from Ferelden who’s made something of a name for herself in one of the chapters of the Clan, but I don’t know much about her.  She lives in Paddra.  Bodyguard of the Seeress herself, or so I’ve heard.  Must be a hell of a fighter to work her way up to that.  What I understand is she’s God-touched.  Came here through the gate of death a year ago.  Mist-born, you know?”

 

“Mist… born?”

 

“Yeah. The gods brought her here, or one of them did, at least.  She died, and was reborn.  She didn’t come here on an airship.  Do you think maybe… you died, too?  I mean, people aren’t Mist-born often, but it does happen.  There’s another fellow somewhere in Archades, I’ve heard.  Don’t know where he’s from nor anything about him.  Dalmascans don’t really like Imperials right now, you understand.”

 

“I was supposed to die,” the big man said. “But I’m alive now.  This makes no sense to me.  I thought something went wrong, that the other Warden perhaps did the killing instead.  But this… this is heinous.  I was dead but now I live again?  And _young_ again?  That’s not… that’s not fair at all.  Death is supposed to be a respite, not a brand new _beginning!”_

 

He stopped himself. “I’m whining, aren’t I?  That’s unworthy of me, I apologize.  I am not, under ordinary circumstances, a whiner.  It seems someone thinks I have more penance to perform.  I suppose it’s up to me to figure out just what it is they still want from me.”

 

He stood and seemed almost to shake himself off. “Perhaps I will travel to Paddra, when I have the coin to do so.  Find this woman from my homeland.  She may have some answers for me.  At the least it may be helpful to speak to someone who knows a little bit more about what… what this ‘Mist-born’ phenomenon is all about.”

 

“The Seeress could probably help you, too,” Tomaj said. “She’s the chosen of Etro, goddess of chaos.  She sees the past and the future.  She could probably tell you who put you here and why.”

 

The big man nodded. “Sounds like a plan, if there’s any truth in that.  In any event, sounds like I’d find them both in the same place, so I might as well ask.  Don’t typically put much stock in people that call themselves prophets, but whatever.”

 

“With that attitude, she won’t let you past the door,” Oghren said, then belched.

 

“Paddra’s a long ways off, and you can’t get a direct flight from our aerodrome,” Tomaj said. “It’ll cost you some gil to get there, but you’ll earn it quick enough if you keep taking bounties.”

 

“All right, explain this again to me. Migelo tried but I still don’t get it.  Gil are silver coins, and they’re worth how much?”

 

“One hundred pennies. Pennies are bronze coins, barely ever used.  We mostly just use gil for everything.  Then there’s galleons, which are gold coins, worth one thousand gil.  You almost never see those unless you’re killing dragons for the crown.  Or… the _Imperials,_ I guess.  Actually, I don’t know what they’ll pay for dragon-killing, but the _crown_ paid gold for it.  Most crowns do.  And then, there’s platinum ducats, which no one not royal or high nobility ever see.  You get your hands on one of those, you can buy yourself noble status.  You can guess how often that happens.”

 

“You value gold more highly here than back home,” the big man said. “I can see why you trade in silver.”

 

“All this is very interestin’, but you’re evadin’ the original issue. A baby-faced boy like you ain’t got no right to a Clan Primer,” Oghren said with some heat.

 

“I don’t even know what that is, and no matter what I might look like now, I’ve taken more scars and shed more blood than you, friend Oghren -- probably _both_ of you,” the big man said, equally heated.

 

“Chocobo shit!” Oghren said, and spit on the floor.

 

“Hey, I’ve warned you about your spitting,” Tomaj said. “That’s not even legal on the street, you’re damned sure not going to do it in my establishment.  Out!”

 

Oghren grumbled, dropped a silver coin on the bar, stood to his impressive three and a half feet of height, squared his shoulders as he gave Tomaj an evil look, and drunkenly staggered out of the inn.

 

“That’s Oghren all right. Making friends and influencing people, everywhere he goes,” the big man said, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“Oh, he’ll be back. He always is.  Couldn’t keep him out if I barred the doors,” Tomaj said.  “So there was another Oghren, back in your country?  I have to say, that’s… disturbing.  I’ve always thought Oghren should be limited to one or less.  The other one was just like that, eh?”

 

“Far as I can tell thus far. Terrible drunk.  Don’t know if I ever saw him sober, and I traveled with him for several weeks.  Fierce fighter, though.  Whatever I thought of him personally, I respected him on the battlefield.”

 

“That sounds like Oghren, all right. One of our greatest hunters, but never sober.”

 

“Well, talking about him just lends him more credibility than either one of him deserves. I’ve got bounties to take care of.  Excuse me.”

 

“Not much of a conversationalist? I get it,” Tomaj said.  “Take care of yourself.”

 

“I always do. Thanks for the information.  And the book.”

 

“That book keys itself to you, keeps record of your kills. Perfect for proving your chops to those who would doubt your skills, like Oghren, maybe,” Tomaj said.

 

“So it’s magic, then?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose. Everything in this place seems infused with magic to some degree or other.”

 

“Is that uncommon where you come from?”

 

The big man sighed and shook his head. “Not exactly, just… kept at a distance, usually.  Your tavern master, I believe, put up one of these bounties.  I suppose that means I have to talk to him, doesn’t it?”

 

He shuffled through the papers he held and stepped toward the end of the bar where the bartender stood wiping a glass. “You want something called a marilith hunted?  Could I have some more information on that, please?” he said to the man.

 

The bartender eyed him. “You’re big and strong, sure, and maybe you’re Mist-born like Tomaj guesses, but marilith ain’t something for one person alone, generally speaking.  And Zertinan Caverns, where it hides, is dangerous and unmapped.  I don’t know that I’d recommend you taking on my hunt, though I need it done pretty badly.”

 

“Well, what in the Void is a marilith, for starters? Once I know that, perhaps I can decide for myself,” the big man said.

 

“Snake. Bloody big one.  Good thirty foot or more, and highly venomous.  What I need is the must -- the venom gland, located in the back of the mouth just before the eyes.  The rest of it -- fangs, eyes, skin, even the meat -- can be sold for a bundle, assuming you can kill the damn thing in the first place.  Got to brew some liquor for a customer, and the clock is ticking.  You want to take the hunt on, be my guest, but I’m not sure I’d wager much on your chances of coming back alive.”

 

“Lot of people have said that to me, a lot of times over my life. Here’s the bounty sheet.  If I don’t come back, put it back up.”

 

“Cocky sonofabitch, aren’t you? You already died once, didn’t you?”

 

“Probably. But I was a damned sight older than anybody ever expected I’d be when I went, and I outlived all my friends, too.  The ones who said I’d die first.”

 

The bartender grimaced. “Your _friends_ said that?”

 

“They were… concerned. Excuse me, there’s another petitioner somewhere around here that I must speak with.  Do you know a Serrah Gatsley?” he asked, consulting another bounty sheet.

 

“Right over yonder,” the bartender said, pointing at a man wearing a green vest and a white turban, sitting on the floor nursing a drink with a dejected look on his face. The big man stepped up to him.

 

“Gatsley?”

 

The man looked up hopefully. “Have you come about my bill?”

 

“I have. What is a ‘thextera,’ and why do you need it hunted?”

 

“It’s a giant, mutated wolf, and I need it killed because it’s going to ruin my poor wife and I. This thing has been attacking caravans in the Westersand for weeks now, disrupting shipments.  I don’t have any goods to sell!  I’ve staked my life savings on a shipment coming through in the next few days, and if that beast stops its transport, I’m ruined!  Please, you must help me!”

 

“Don’t soil your britches, I’m here. Why hasn’t anyone else killed this beast in all these weeks?”

 

“The Westersand isn’t the trade route that the Estersand is. No one but myself is as much affected by this creature, and there’s not much for patrols to the west, either.  I had to put up the bounty myself because no one else cared enough, and I couldn’t put up reward enough to make any of the local hunters care.  The beast isn’t worth much on its own.”

 

“This thing particularly dangerous? Is that why they won’t go after it?”

 

“No, it’s just a big, ugly wolf, as far as I know. Rough on supply wagons but no match for a skilled hunter.  Oh, please tell me you’ll kill it for me.”

 

“Well, I suppose I haven’t been in town long enough to be picky about the jobs I take. I’ll kill your beast for you.  You have my word.”

 

“Oh, thank you, Sir. Thank you.”

 

“I’m headed to take a bounty in the Estersand for someone I owe, first, but it shouldn’t take me long. I’ll handle your wolf before I go hunting snakes in dark caverns.  Need to hunt me down a map, though.  Don’t really know my way around, yet.”

 

“Cartographer’s Guild always has a moogle posted in the Southern Plaza,” Gatsley said. “Maps of the city, the Estersand, Westersand, and Giza Plains, all either free or for pennies each.”

 

“What’s a moogle?”

 

Gatsley blinked at him. “Little… person… with white or tan fur… and an antenna on his head with a pom pom on top.  Can’t miss ‘em.  ‘Less you step on ‘em.  They’re a lot… smaller than you.”

 

“I think I’ve seen some of them about. Thank you.”

 

The big man left the inn and headed south to the large plaza area leading to the doors to the gates out of the city. He assumed this was the Southern Plaza his petitioner spoke of, and even if it wasn’t, he needed to be there to get out of the city anyway.  He found one of the small furry people standing around in fancy robes and carrying a pack of scrolls on his back and made the educated guess that this was the Cartographers Guild representative..

 

“You have maps for sale?” he asked.

 

“Yes indeedy, kupo. What you need?” the little thing squeaked.

 

“One of everything you’ve got.”

 

“Ah! New to the area, eh, kupo?  Well, here’s a copy of the city map, and that has a map to Lowtown included.  That’s free to all newcomers to our fair city.  Here’s a map of the Estersand, that’s thirty pennies.  The Westersand, for another thirty, and Giza Plains, thirty pennies more.  Ninety pennies total.”

 

“I hope you don’t need exact change. I don’t have any pennies yet.  Just gil.”

 

“I have change, kupo.”

 

“Here you go, then.” He took a silver and handed it over.

 

“Ten pennies change,” the little furry person said, counting out bronze coins.

 

“Keep it,” Loghain said.

 

“Thank you, kupo. Have a nice rest of your day!”

 

 

The big man touched his brow and nodded as he turned away toward the stairs to the East Gate. It opened before he reached it, and several people, some leading giant yellow birds hauling carts came through from the other side as several other people left the city for the desert.  The big man walked through on their heels.  They all made tracks well away from the wild saurian, but the big man passed close enough to the creature to tip a brief salute to it as he passed.  The monster chewed a wolf and regarded him thoughtfully with its doll-black eyes.

 

He made it to the Outpost without incident and without stepping in any piles of giant yellow bird scat. Like any damn bird, those things seemed to go gangbusters.  He hoped they never ate berries.

 

“Hey Dantro,” he called as he entered the fissure in the rock and spotted the man sitting on a crate in the middle of the area within. Dantro looked over and waved to him, then turned back to the blue pig-being he was talking to.  The big man approached with his hands on his hips.  Dantro nodded to him and he nodded back.  “Who’s your friend?” he asked.

 

“This seeq just had an encounter with a flowering cactoid in the Yardang Labyrinth,” Dantro said. “Needles everywhere.  In his things, and thankfully not in him, or he’d be in major trouble.  I put up a bounty on the thing, but no one’s bit on the reward yet.  Too much monster for me.”

 

“Well I saw your posting and I thought I’d take a crack at it for you,” the big man said.

 

“And I saw you leavin’ so I thought I’d follow you an’ see what you could do,” Oghren said from the fissure behind them.

 

“Oghren. I thought I hadn’t seen the last of you,” the big man said, putting a hand to his brow to cover his eyes.

 

“Someone’s got to defend the Clan,” Oghren said. “We’re not lettin’ in untested babies.”

 

“That’s funny. They let _you_ in,” the big man said evenly.

 

“Oh har de har har,” Oghren said. “Real comedian, you.”

 

“Hey, I saw this man take out three full-sized cockatrices and a nekhbet all at once like they were nothing at all,” Dantro said. “He’s no ‘baby,’ Oghren.  He’s a hunter.”

 

“Yeah, you’re not exactly an expert, Guardsman,” Oghren said. “Nekhbet ain’t nothing to _any_ real hunter.  And not all hunters belong in the Clan.  Kind of like you, reject.”

 

Dantro’s eyes narrowed. “And a flowering cactoid is the perfect test?  On its own, it’s not _that_ much of a monster.  Certainly not _Clan_ -worthy.  What are you up to, Oghren?”

 

“Nothin’. Just defendin’ the Clan’s honor, that’s all.”

 

“It’s all right, Dantro. What can he do, anyway?” the big man asked.

 

“He managed to keep _me_ out of the Clan,” Dantro said.  “Frankly, I trust him about as far as I can throw him.  If he goes with you, I’m coming along.  Technically I’m not supposed to leave my post, but the cactoid’s not far away.  I’ll keep Oghren away from you while you work.”

 

“Like you could stop me if I wanted to get in ‘is way,” Oghren said, sneering.

 

“I’ll find a way,” Dantro said. “If you’re going, I’m going.”

 

“I really don’t need supervision, you know,” the big man said.

 

“You don’t, but Oghren does,” Dantro pointed out.

 

“You got me there. All right, come along.”

 

They headed into the area beyond the Outpost to the east, where the game was more plentiful. The big man was forced to kill several wolves and cockatrices, as well as something like the tomato-headed creature except for the fact that its head was a turnip.  Oghren remained stubbornly unimpressed by the ease of his kills, even when the numbers against him were great.  “These critters ain’t nothin’,” he said under his breath.

 

At last, around one of the bends in the arroyo walls, the big man spotted a splash of the color pink ahead. A brightly-colored flower atop a large green cactus plant, a cactus plant with eyes and a mouth, wandering around the desert with several of the smaller, poisonous cactus-plant creatures.  The big man dropped into a crouch behind a rock outcropping before the creature could see him.  The others stayed well back.

 

“I’ve never fought a cactus before,” the big man said, speaking softly to his companions. “Anything I need to know about this thing before I jump out at it?”

 

“Yeah, don’t jump out at it. It’ll fill you so full of needles you’ll wish you’d never been born,” Dantro said.  “You’re too far away to charge at the thing, even if you had armor, which you don’t.”

 

“Should I take it with a bow instead?” the big man asked. “I should really have one, for hunting, but I doubt I have enough coin for a decent one yet.”

 

“No good,” Oghren said. “There’s really no place to hit it.  No, you gotta get right up to it and chop its head off, kill it quick, before it knows y’er there.  Go on, pretty boy.  Do it.”

 

The big man looked to Dantro for confirmation. Dantro looked uncomfortable.  “I hate to say it, but… it’s sound advice.  Oghren is the best of hunters,” he said.  “These creatures can hear but they’re not terribly attentive.  You can sneak up on them fairly easily if you’re careful.”

 

“All right. I can be stealthy when I have to be.”

 

He waited in silence until the cactoid turned from him, intent upon whatever business a flowering cactoid had with its friends. Then he crept out from behind the outcropping with his sword drawn and approached slowly and in silence.  Dantro and Oghren crept up to the outcropping behind him to watch.  He drew his sword back to strike, but before he could, something terrible happened.

 

Oghren farted.

 

The sound was explosive in the enclosed space, the stench was indescribable, like rotten eggs and compost. It made the big man rear back in surprise and dismay, and it made the cactoid turn around, shriek, and pump its arms.  A thousand thousand needles flew from its body and struck the big man in the face, chest, stomach, and other, more tender places.  Dantro stood up and vaulted over the rock, while Oghren laughed.  Instead of succumbing to pain or to anger, the big man simply attacked the cactoid and chopped off its head before it could fill him with any more needles.

 

“Ha! Took it like a man!  Maybe you _are_ a hunter after all, Baby Man-Hands!” Oghren said, still laughing, as the big man finished off the smaller cactus creatures that tried to avenge their larger comrade.  When they all lay dead, he sheathed his sword and turned back to his companions.

 

“You did that on purpose? I shouldn’t be surprised.  Flatulence on command would be a talent of _any_ Oghren,” he said, quite calmly under the circumstances, especially since he could not open one eye for the needles stuck in the eyelid, and the other would only open partway.

 

“Aw, don’t be sore. Er, sore-er than you have to be, anyway.  Takin’ a face full a’ needles is a rite of passage for a hunter.  Here, let me fix you up.”  Oghren concentrated, pointed at the big man, and a wash of white light rose up around him.  The needles fell out as his wounds healed.

 

“You can work magic? I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me, either.  Where I come from, dwarves can’t do magic at all, ever.  That was a cure spell?  That worked very well,” the big man said.

 

“That was _curaja,”_ Oghren said, grunting.  If you don’t know it yet, you should learn it quick as you can.  Real hunters take real wounds.  They need real healing spells, not weak little basic spells like ‘cure.’”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

“Well, you earned your bounty,” Dantro said. “Five hundred gil and ten healing potions.  I’ve got them back at the Outpost for you.  You know, you really should invest in a bottomless satchel for all this game and stuff you’re carrying.  You’re loaded down heavy.”

 

“Bottomless satchel?”

 

“It’s enchanted. You can stuff anything in it, and weight and size never becomes an issue.  Holds all you want.”

 

“That’s something worth having, all right. Where would I get one?”

 

“There’s a fellow passing through South Banks who sells them, if you were really interested… and if you’d be so kind as to take this cactoid flower to my wife to brew up for this sick traveler she’s tending,” Dantro said. “Makes an unguent that’s supposed to be pretty potent, so we’ve heard.  I can’t go back home for another three days, as you know.  I’ll throw in an extra ten silver for you if you would.”

 

“No need. I’ll do it.”

 

“Thank you, my friend.”

 

“Not me,” Oghren said, hitching at his belt. “Back to the tavern for me.  There’s a flagon with my name on it.”

 

“More than one, I’d wager,” the big man said, wrinkling his nose in distaste, and cut the flower off the cactoid’s head and headed off further into the Estersand.


	4. Dungeons and Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nalbina

The East Gate opened to admit the big man and he resettled his new bottomless satchel on his shoulder as he walked through.  It occurred to him as passingly odd that no one else was in the courtyard, when earlier it had seemed quite busy, and no one came through from the other side, but he didn’t give it much thought until he passed through and was set upon by Imperial guardsmen.  “Drop your weapons and raise your hands.  You are under arrest by Imperial Decree,” the highest-ranked guardsman said.  The big man raised an eyebrow, dropped his satchel, unharnessed his sword, and raised both hands over his head.

 

“Am I allowed to ask why I am under arrest?” he asked.

 

“Witnesses saw you speaking to Captain Vossler York Azelas this morning at the Sandsea Inn and Tavern.  You are under suspicion of being a part of the conspiracy to remove Lady Aschelia B’Nargin Dalmasca from the city.  This is treason.  You will be remanded immediately to the dungeons of Nalbina to rot until the new Consul arrives to pass judgment on you.”

 

“I see.  Imperial justice is swift and fair.”

 

“Silence.  Olazabal, Noyes, put him in chains.  Rezal, gather his things for the Confiscatory.  Keep your hands on your head, prisoner, and follow.”

 

They marched him back out through the Gate and out into the desert, through the Outpost.  Dantro stood up on sight of him and started to speak in outrage, but a stony blue glare from the prisoner silenced him effectively.  The big man didn’t want him arrested as an accessory too.  The guard contingent marched him beyond the Outpost deeper into the desert, in the general direction of South Banks village.

 

“You know, I was just out here.  You could have saved me some walking if you’d just arrested me then,” the big man said.  One of the guards shoved him with the pole of their spear.

 

_“Silence.”_

 

They took him past the village to a small walled city he supposed was Nalbina.  Once inside the gate, they paraded him through the bazaar in the heart of town and up the steps of the fortress and inside, and turned him and his belongings over to the dungeon guards.  He was thrown still chained into a cell without a door, his things were taken to someplace called the “Confiscatory,” and no one told him anything about how long he might have to wait for anything, including food and water.  He suspected he wouldn’t get any.  They’d probably rather he simply died, or at least suffered to the maximum.  By the looks of the other prisoners, that was standard practice.

 

There was a bangaa already in the cell, skinny and dried-out.  He moved aside for the newcomer.  “Hey,” he said, raising a shackled hand in greeting once the prison guards were gone.

 

“Hello,” the big man said.

 

“Watch out for Daguza.  You’re big and you look strong.  He’ll want to make sure you know your place and that everyone sees it.”

 

“Who’s Daguza?”

 

“Big, dumb seeq.  Runs around with a couple of others, beating everyone else up, taking their food and water, what little we get.  Thinks he runs the joint.  Since the Imperials took over, he kind of does.  Back when the King was still alive, the guards used to actually sort of protect us, a little.  Now they’ve all been replaced by Archadians.”

 

“I’ll keep this Daguza fellow in mind,” he said as he began picking through the debris in the cell, looking for splinters strong enough and thin enough for use as lock picks.

 

“Say, what’chu think you’re doin’, boy?” the bangaa said, as he set about working at his shackles.  “You think you’re gonna get out of here or something?”

 

“That’s the general idea.”

 

“Nobody escapes from Nalbina dungeons.  Hell, it ain’t even a real dungeon, they just sealed off the lower levels of the fortress.  There’s no way out.”

 

“There’s always a way out.  You just have to find it.  Or -- make it.”

 

The bangaa shook his head.  “Oh, boy -- you gonna get yourself in trouble.  Me?  I’m stayin’ well away.”

 

“Probably the best idea.”

 

Finally the locks to his shackles opened.  “Wasn’t certain that would work.  Haven’t picked a lock since I was twenty or so,” he said.

 

“How old are you now?” the bangaa asked.

 

“Hard to say, actually.  Older than I look, younger than I think, perhaps.”

 

“Okay.  That’s a… weird answer.”

 

“Yeah.  I don’t understand it myself.”

 

“Well, now that you’re unchained, I suppose you’ll be on your way.  Good luck to you, I guess.  Personally, I think you’re suicidal, but I hope you don’t die.  Or it’s quick, at least.  Quick ain’t somethin’ we’re afforded very often down here.”

 

“Don’t worry about me.  Survival is something I’m good at, and I already died once.”

 

“Already died once?  Well, maybe you’d better rethink just how good you are at survival.”

 

“Maybe so.”

 

He crabwalked to the edge of the cell wall and peered out around it, but he saw no sign of guards.  He stood up straight and walked out into the dungeon.  Prisoners in rusty shackles eyed him warily.  They ceded space to him immediately.

 

He didn’t expect to find an easy way out.  If that were the case, they wouldn’t keep prisoners here, or they would at least guard them more heavily.  But there was a way, perhaps a way others were afraid to take.  He would find it, if it existed, and he would find his way through.

 

The dungeon had several levels, open in the middle for several levels before the balconies closed off in a solid stone floor with a dirt-floored arena-like area in the middle.  The big man made it down to this final level without encountering any difficulty, but as he was stepping off the bottom step onto this final floor, a starved and dehydrated bangaa fell from the upper level above, apparently thrown over the railing.  He reached out a quavering hand.  “Hhheeellllp mmmeeee,” he said, and then collapsed.  The big man looked up, and three huge seeq vaulted the railing above to land with relative ease on their heavy legs before him.

 

“Look at this one,” the one in front said.  The big man couldn’t quite understand him, his voice was so deep and his speech was so grunting and harsh.  The seeq pounded his fist into his hand.  “He looks like he needs a lesson in who’s in charge around here, don’t he, boys?”  The other two grunted and nodded in agreement.

 

“I don’t know who you _think_ you are,” the big man said, “but I _expect_ your name must be Daguza, correct?”

 

The seeq half-turned to his friends.  “Lookie -- thinks he’s smart.  Well, if he really is smart, he’ll lay down and beg for mercy.”

 

They stepped forward in a group, and the big man stepped one step backward.  Just one.  When they stepped towards him again, he met their advance.  Daguza took a swing.  He ducked it, grabbed the seeq’s meaty arm, spun out from under him while twisting, and flipped the huge being over his shoulder.  He body-slammed the seeq, driving his elbow into the man’s spine, and heard it crack beneath him.  Daguza was then out of service.  He rose and faced the other two.

 

“Am I going to have further troubles with you?” he asked.  The other seeq, dim-witted followers named Galeedo and Gwitch, looked at Daguza, paralyzed on the ground, and then looked at each other.  As one, they looked at the big man and began to back away slowly, then turned and ran.  The big man watched them disappear into the depths of the prison, then continued on his way, paying no further attention to Daguza at all, even as his fellow prisoners cheered the man’s demise.


	5. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the bowels of Nalbina

It took several hours of searching, but eventually he found his way deeper into the dungeons, into the pits where political prisoners and those meant for torture were kept in special confinement.  He explored this underground area, looking for hidden tunnels, foundation cracks, anything, when pounding footsteps heralded the approach of many booted feet.  He hid himself in a dark corner to watch.

 

Men in black armor with capes and horned helmets came down the stairs and proceeded through to an inner ring of the lower dungeon.  Careful not to be seen, the big man followed them.  They stopped in the very center of the prison, where there was a large, black pit in the middle of the floor.  A lackey pulled up a long, heavy chain with a great winch, and raised a large metal cage.  A wasted, bearded man was inside the cage, clinging to the bars.  The leader of the armored men took off his helmet.  Despite the fact he had no beard, the resemblance between prisoner and captor was remarkable.

 

The big man didn’t listen to what the Imperials had to say to their prisoner -- something about Princess Asche, and he’d had all to do with that mess that he wanted.  He was more interested in the pit, and where it might end up.  Probably nowhere, but possibly a sewer, and sewers led _out._ The problem was going to be getting down to the bottom safely.

 

The Imperials left, but they left the caged man at the top of the pit.  There was his big opportunity, and he knew he’d better take it quickly.  They probably didn’t intend to leave their prisoner in the light for long.  He ran for the center room, broke the winch with a hard kick, and leapt on to the cage as it swiftly fell into the darkness.

 

“What are you _doing?”_ the bearded man said in alarm.

 

“Escaping, hopefully.  Keep your head, and perhaps you’ll do it with me.”

 

The long, heavy chain kept the first hundred feet or so of their descent at a swift but controlled pace.  Then the chain ran out, and they fell the last thirty feet or so without the pulleys as a guide.  They crashed down to the bottom of the pit hard and the cage was smashed open, but aside from a few bruises, they survived.  The bearded man sat up shaking and checked himself for broken parts.  “You’re a lunatic,” he said, “but… you _did_ it.”

 

The big man was already standing, looking around.  Instead of a sewer, they were in another whole building, under the entire substructure of the dungeon.  This was where the Imperial Guard stored supplies, marshaled patrols for the surrounding region, and stored confiscated goods from prisoners and unlicensed merchants.  The big man didn’t know any of that, he just knew he was in a large construction that looked like another part of the dungeon to him, a disheartening thought after such a long fall.

 

“What now?  Where do we go?” the bearded man said, coming up on his left.

 

“You think I know?  I hoped for a sewer, not another level of the dungeon.  I guess we just keep looking,” the big man said, scowling.

 

“You jumped down a bottomless pit, not knowing where it led?”

 

“It clearly wasn’t bottomless, now was it?  There’s no such thing as a ‘bottomless pit.’”

 

“I suppose I’m in no condition to argue, even though the bottom was about twenty feet from the end of the pit.”

 

“Come on, let’s get out of here before somebody comes looking for us.”

 

Together they wended their way through the halls of the building, not knowing where they were headed, until at a blind corner the big man gestured for his new companion to stop and be silent.  Someone was coming, alone by the sound.  He waited, and when the individual was near enough he sprang out of hiding around the corner and grabbed them from behind.  It was a young Imperial patrolman, and he took his sword and held it to his throat.  The young man immediately began to babble.

 

“You… you’re looking for stuff, right?  Stuff to sell?  The Confiscatory is right around the corner, just to the left.  All the stuff we take off the prisoners.  Some good stuff there.  _Really_ good stuff.”

 

The big man thought for a moment, then pushed the boy away down the corridor.  _“Run,”_ he said in his best, loudest growl _.  “And don’t talk.”_

 

“You should’ve killed him,” his companion said.  “He will tell his superiors.”

 

“I know,” the big man said.  “Call me sentimental, but I didn’t want to kill a boy on his first guard patrol.  He didn’t see our faces, and he was too stupid to think we were escapees, and he kindly told us where our things are stored.  Hopefully we can get out of here before leaving him alive bites me in the ass.”

 

They headed for the Confiscatory, a large room where the big man found his pack with a little digging and his companion found a vest to wear against looking too much like a starved and beaten convict on the outside if they made it, and a fine sword and shield to use.  They headed back out of the room and on in the general direction they were going until they came to a heavy portcullis.

 

“If we could get this open, the path beyond may lead us to safety,” the Big Man said, looking the gate over.

 

“Or to our deaths,” his companion said.

 

“At this point, does it matter so much to you which?”

 

“Not really, I suppose, as long as there’s a chance.”

 

“I think I can give you that much.  Look around.  There must be some way to open this thing.”

 

“Someone’s coming!” the bearded man said.  “Quickly!  We must hide!”

 

“Up there!” the big man said, pointing to an alcove carved near the ceiling.  He boosted his companion up there and then found a pillar to hide behind.  Not a great hiding spot, but he feared the wall would crumble if he tried to hide in the alcove with the bearded man.

 

A half a dozen Imperial guardsmen came clanking in, not very well organized, half-panicked.  “How could anyone have got in here?  I think that patrolman was drunk.”

 

“Do you think they left through the Passage here, Sir?” another guard said.

 

“Nonsense, the gate is closed.  If they were here, they’ve left through the exit.  We’ll follow them into the Estersand and track them down.  There’s no need to risk the darkness for phantoms.”

 

They left down another corridor, without searching the area.  The big man breathed a sigh of relief.  He gave the guards a few more moments to proceed further on, and then left his hiding place and helped the bearded man down from his.

 

“Well, it sounds like this passage _does_ lead to the outside eventually,” the big man said.  “All we have to do now is open this gate, and follow it where it leads.  They’ve gone to go out the front door.  Hopefully, our paths will never cross.”

 

“Couldn’t we… go out behind them?” the bearded man said.

 

“Risky.”

 

“Riskier than traveling down a pitch-dark underground passage leading gods knows where, with who knows what lurking in the darkness and Mist?”

 

“You scared of the dark?”

 

“I can’t see in it.”

 

“I can see in it pretty well.  Follow me and you’ll be all right.”

 

“How is it you’re so… _omni-competent?”_

 

“Say what?” the big man said.

 

“You’re like a god.  Or a demigod.  Where did you spring from, stranger?  You can’t be human.”

 

“I don’t know.  I might not be.  I don’t know what I am or how I got here.  But I’m good at surviving and I’m… _fairly_ good at keeping others alive, and that’s pretty important at the current time, isn’t it?”

 

“I’ll consider myself comforted.  Over there -- a lever.  I should think it raises the gate.  Too much to hope there’s a light switch nearby as well.”

 

The big man nodded his head to a contraption on the wall near the lever.  “Like that funny gadget?”

 

The bearded man laughed.  “Yes, like that funny gadget exactly.  Doesn’t look like it works any longer, though.”

 

The big man inspected it.  “What would it need to function again?”

 

The bearded man looked it over.  “Well, I’m no expert on this kind of thing, but it looks like the power cell is blown.  Good luck finding another.”

 

“Maybe at the Confiscatory?”

 

“Do you think we have the kind of time necessary for a search like that?” the bearded man asked.  “Might be fruitless.  Why would anyone who got arrested happen to have a power cell on them?”

 

“The guards might have stored extra power cells there.  Do you want to walk in the dark?”

 

“Not really, but I say if we don’t find anything quick we don’t waste time at it.”

 

“A man after my own heart.”


End file.
